Secrets Learned
by LuMaria
Summary: A very short Ron POV. Ron Weasley deals with Harry after the Third Task.


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Secrets Learned

By LuMaria

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A/N: Just a little bit of fluff and….unnecessary stupidness. And no, this isn't really slash. I know you're disappointed. So sue me. No, don't.

Pairing: There is no pairing. Very, very, VERY slight Ron/Harry if you're looking for subtext that isn't there.

Rated: PG. And that's really stretching it, it's pretty close to G.

Spoilers: Well, a big FAT one for Goblet of Fire. If you haven't read that book, this fic will probably make no sense to you.

When I was growing up as a young lad at the Burrow, I always took Mum's hugs for granted. Everyone in the family expected one of her hugs after a particularly brutal game of Quidditch, when tumbling from broomsticks was most common, considering we were so small. They were also expected when Fred or George nicked the last of the special chocolate Dad would bring home every so often when he felt he had enough money, which left another Weasley child without.

No matter if we had scraped knees, colds and fever, or just plain felt bad, Mum would press us to her bosom and say nonsense things to distract us from our then-traumatizing pain., such as "Oh, Ronnie, won't you help me plan our next trip to India?" or "Ginny, dear, let me tell you about the time I blew up your father's favorite chair." Yes, her hugs were almost famous.

Then I got taller, I went to Hogwarts, I got too big for Mum's hugs.

I miss them. 

Harry's got Mum's arms around him now. He's all bunched up against her, as if he's trying to burrow away from the world. He's so small, his face is so wretched, and I know I shouldn't be jealous at all, but I am. Nobody in the world deserves a hug more than Harry Potter, I know that. Everybody knows that. But the irritation at the sight in front of me won't stop gnawing at my stomach. I can't understand this, why on earth---

I'm his best friend. I've known him for four and a half whole years. I'm the thing he'd miss most in the world.

If bloody Harry Potter needs a bloody hug, I should bloody well be the one to give it to him.

Harry's got his eyes squeezed shut, as if blocking mental voices, his glasses are tilted on his face. He's fisting Mum's robes in his hands, making some sort of..God, some sort of whimpering sound in his throat. He's miserable. That's it, I've got to say something, I've got to---

A loud slamming noise derails my mission. "Sorry," Hermione mumbles from the window, and I glare at her, but only for a moment, since Mum and Harry are no longer embracing.

Mum forces Harry to suck down his sleeping draught, and he flops hopelessly back onto the bed, fast asleep. Okay now. He's okay now. As long as he doesn't dream.

"We should go," Hermione says, her fists clenched. "We should go." I can do nothing but follow her blindly as she walks slowly out of the hospital wing and towards our tower, where I'm sure we'll do nothing but talk in the common room all night..but I don't want to talk. I can't talk, Harry's in there, he's been hurt. "He'll be fine," she says, but I'm sure she's not talking to me. 

"He won't be fine," I say miserably, and I feel for a moment as if she may not know Harry at all.

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Harry's peering at me from under the covers of his bed; he's been watching me read "Flying with the Cannons" for the last twenty minutes or so. He's still not talking, prefering to watch me or Hermione do something--anything--as long as it keeps his mind occupied with unimportant things. I snap the book closed and put it on my bedside table, then lie back on my bed and turn to see a pair of green eyes, dulled and obscured by glasses, staring wearily at me.

"It got boring," I say with a forced smile, one he doesn't return. Again he doesn't speak. "Well, I'm starving. I think I'm going to go see what those house elves have whipped up for us. Want to go?" I jump from my bed, but Harry just stays put where he is, and I can see his fingers snaking out and gripping the edges of his covers, pulling them tighter around his face. "It's alright. You don't have to go. I just wondered," I say, flustered with myself. I can't expect him to just jump up and greet the day with a song in his heart

"No, I'll go," Harry's voice is raspy, as if he'd been screaming terribly the night before. A horrible chill runs down my spine as I think that's probably what happened, and I shudder involuntarily. He climbs out from under the mountain of scarlet slowly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. I shift from foot to foot, watching him clean his glasses, then put them back on again. "Do you...do you think...."

"What?" I ask, sitting next to him on his bed, and turning to face him seriously.

"Well, d'you think there's any way I could just go straight to your house this summer?" He's pleading with his eyes, he's wringing his hands, and suddenly all my respect for Dumbledore flies out the window. I have to shake my head, and his face, already pale and sad, falls even further.

"Mum says you can't right away; she begged Dumbledore last night before she left. She went to ask him if you could come straight to us this summer, but he wants you to go back to the Dursleys, at least at first." I sigh, watching Harry bring his knees up to his chest and wrap his arms around them. He's got a large dark bruise or something in the crook of his right arm, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath, because I feel as if it's been knocked out of me.

Harry's eyes are now on my face, and I'm slightly nervous for some reason I have no knowledge of, sure that I'm blushing. "Why?" 

"She said Dumbledore's got his reasons," I muttered angrily, shaking my head. "I suppose we've got to trust him, haven't we?"

It's a few minutes before Harry speaks, and when he does, I wish he hadn't. "I can't," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can't go back to the Dursleys."

I'm not sure what he expects me to say or do, if he even expects anything. "I know they're awful to you, Harry," I finally say with a sigh. "But it won't be long, and I'm sure Mum will talk Dumbledore into letting you stay with us. And...and I'll write you ten times a day so you don't get bored...until you get to come."

"I just don't..." He drops his head to the top of his knees and draws a shuddering sigh. "I don't know if I can bear one minute of them, not the way I...the way I feel right now. I know it's hard for you to understand, Ron, but they're the last people on earth I need to stay with."

"It's not hard for me to understand, I've met them," I tell him in a calm voice.. "You'll be all right, Harry. You're a strong person." My words are all confidence, but soon his shoulders are shaking, and his hands reach up to yank at his own hair, and I don't feel so sure that Harry can take much more of anything. "Harry?"

He's crying. I can tell, because he won't lift his head, not even when I try and pry my hand between his arm and his forehead to get him to look at me. What am I supposed to do? There's not a tea kettle handy, I can't make tea like Mum does when others are upset. However, I could probably...

"Harry." I scoot until I'm right beside my best friend and hesitantly put my arm around his shoulders. "Harry, mate, it'll be all right, I promise." To my surprise, he tilts his body towards me, so that soon I have both arms around his shoulders, though his head is still tucked slightly between his knees.

"I doubt that," comes the muffled reply, but his legs slide down slowly, and his feet slap the cold floor hard. "I may need more than ten letters a day to keep from going insane with them."

"Then I'll write fifty," I promise, pleased that he finally has wrapped his thin arms around my waist. "And I won't even complain about my hand cramping up, or that my owl is a stupid feathery prat."

Harry looks up into my face, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. "I'll believe it when I see it," he says slowly, but he doesn't smile; his face is dark and sad. He leans his head in the crook between my head and shoulder then, his thick black hair tickling my chin, and I see there's only one way to proceed. I clear my throat.

"Say, Harry...did I ever tell you about the time I enchanted the tree outside Percy's window to serenade him every morning at 3 a.m.?"

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Special thanks to Jaime, who thought this seemed a good idea. Boy, were you ever wrong. 


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